


Cloak and Quiver

by RangerPippin



Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan
Genre: Commandorks, Crowley Gilansdad, Crowley and Gilan working together, Gen, Gilan needs a hug sometimes, Gilan's overconfidence gets the best of him, introducing Quiver, the cat of many names
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24379414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RangerPippin/pseuds/RangerPippin
Summary: Gilan, a newly graduated Ranger, is assigned as the secondary Ranger of Araluen Fief, working with Crowley. It seems like a dream assignment - but Gilan must face distrust from the townsfolk, a judgemental cat, a gang of bloodthirsty arsonists, and most dangerous of all, his own worst flaw. The story of a few of those "whoppers" Gilan mentioned to Will in Erak's Ransom.
Relationships: Gilan & Crowley Meratyn
Comments: 16
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

~oOo~

_Thwack!_

_Thwack!_

_Thwack!_

Gilan raised an arm to shield his face from the savage blows, ducking for cover. Inwardly, he chided himself. He hadn't been expecting the attack, but, as Halt had drilled into his head so many times, a Ranger had to be prepared for anything. He saw his attacker prepare for another swing, and swayed deftly out of the path of the blow.

The broom handle swung past him harmlessly, slamming into the doorframe of the small cottage instead. Gilan's attacker, a small, sturdy farmer's wife in her late forties, began shouting again, punctuating her remarks with another series of whacks.

"Out of my sight! Our Ranger Crowley could beat the pants off of you and your lord Morgarath, curse his traitor hide! Get off my property before I beat the pants off you myself, and tell your traitor lord that we in Araluen Fief won't stand for anyone but a true Ranger!"

"Ma'am-" Gilan began, again dodging the broom, "I am a true Ranger - I was trained by -"

"Trained? You and your kind only train to swig wine, swish your fancy capes, and kick out proper Rangers who care about the people! Go fetch Crowley from wherever you've sent him - he's the one I want taking care of that fox, not a namby-pamby from Morgarath's court."

"I don't work for Morgarath!" Gilan all but shouted. "And Crowley's still here! I'm working with him, he was the one who appointed me here!"

The woman stopped to consider this. "If Crowley's still here, where's he? And what are you doing here?"

Gilan offered a disarming smile, something he was quite good at. "He's up at the castle where he's always been. I'm moving into the Ranger cabin - Crowley assigned me here as the secondary Ranger for Araluen Fief. I'm helping him out."

The woman looked Gilan over with a critical eye. Finally, she spoke. "Couldn't hack it in your own fief, eh?"

With an effort, Gilan managed to keep the grin on his face. "It’s not that. There’s not enough fiefs to go around," he explained. "And not enough manpower to go around in some of the larger fiefs, like Araluen. With the Corps back up to full strength, the Commandant has a lot more to do to run the whole operation. So I'm here to help deal with any murderous highway robbers, desperate jewel thieves, or sneaky foxes that might crop up."

The woman nodded, though she still seemed skeptical. "What about them arsonists? Set fire to my sister's friend's stable, they did, and they were aiming for her whole shop."

Gilan nodded. "We're tracking them down as well. They won't escape. And the quicker this fox issue is settled, the more time Crowley and I will have to catch them," he added meaningfully.

The woman seemed to take the hint. With a last disdainful sniff, she stepped outside to lead Gilan to the barnyard. "This way," she said. "But I'm warning you, ‘secondary’ Ranger, I've got my eye on you."

~oOo~

“Well, you’ve got to hand it to her - that’s more than most people can say,” laughed Crowley, as Gilan finished his story. “I have trouble keeping an eye on you myself sometimes, with how you move. Don’t take it to heart. Ida can be a bit peppery at times - it’ll take a little while to win her over.”

Gilan gave a weary half-grin, but it was plain his mind was elsewhere. “All the same, Commandant, she is the third one since I started. Ernald the blacksmith has got it into his head that I’m your apprentice, and the innkeeper felt the same way Ida did.”

“Once bitten, twice shy,” said the young Commandant. “Remember - not too many years ago they had to put up with that idiot Stilson, not to mention all the other false Rangers lounging around here at headquarters. Give it time. They’ll have to notice how skilled you are before too long. I have every confidence that I picked the right Ranger, Gilan, and sooner or later they’ll feel the same way.”

“Thank you, Crowley,” said Gilan, feeling encouraged.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” Crowley cut in. “This batch of Battleschool reports just came in, and they need to be checked and finalized before we send them along to Lord Northolt. Of course, I’m still busy organizing everything from the cabin, and you, well, you’ve got experience with Battleschool. Can I - can I just-” Crowley broke off, slowly pushing the intimidating stack off his desk and into Gilan’s arms. “Yes. Yes, that feels better.”

Gilan glanced between his newfound burden and its source, who was now grinning wolfishly. “Somehow I disagree.”

~oOo~

Gilan stumbled up the stairs of Crowley’s - no,  _ his  _ Ranger cabin, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the low sill of the roof. Why were all the Ranger cabins built for someone so much shorter than he was, Gilan wondered. And not for the first time.

Still, it was something to finally have a Ranger cabin to himself, Gilan mused as he set the stack of Battleschool reports down on the table and dropped into a chair. He thought back to how many times he had looked forward to this moment, wondering what it would be like.

A devious grin spread across his face. Very deliberately, he leaned back in his chair, balancing on the two back legs and relishing in the fact that no one could tell him not to.

Yes, there certainly were benefits to being a fully fledged Ranger.

If only he could convince the people of Araluen Fief that a fully fledged Ranger was what he was. He rocked back and forth on the chair, keeping his balance easily enough, deep in thought over the events of the morning. It was almost as if the doubts and worries of the last year of his apprenticeship - the voices whispering _you’re not ready, you’ll never measure up, you’ll never be able to make the decisions Halt does,_ had found their way outside his mind to confront him in reality.

Although, he had to admit, his own doubts had never accused him of working for Morgarath. Or hit him with a broom. Or -

Gilan was abruptly pulled out of his musings as he distinctly felt the chair overbalance beneath him. He snatched at the table to catch himself, but it was already too late to prevent the chair from toppling to the floor with an earsplitting crash.

Sheepishly, Gilan got to his feet and righted the chair, glad no one had seen. Perhaps Halt had had a point after all. Still, it probably wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been so distracted with his thoughts.

Gilan sighed. He was an optimist by nature, and it wasn’t like him to spend so much time fretting over a problem that would, he was sure, resolve itself eventually. What was it Crowley had said? _“ Give it time. They’ll have to notice how skilled you are before too long.”_ He had to hold onto that. Sooner or later, the townsfolk would come around.

Speaking of Crowley... Gilan’s eyes drifted back to the stack of reports. Being a fully fledged Ranger had its drawbacks, too. Sighing, he leaned forward and reached for the first report on the stack.

And froze.

He had seen something - a shadow, flickering at the corner of a side window. Subconsciously, his mind had picked it out as not being part of the normal pattern of shadows caused by the trees surrounding the cabin. And - there it was again at another window! Closer to the door this time. 

Had Blaze warned him of someone approaching? No - Gilan would never have missed her signal. But maybe this threat hadn’t come from the main road, escaping her notice.

Silently, Gilan crept forward, one hand slipping to his saxe knife. His eyes were fixed on the door, which he hadn’t fully shut upon entering.

Just in time to see it slowly, noisily nudge open.

~oOo~

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @drowned_in_books and @littlekaracan for beta-ing this chapter!


	2. Chapter 2

  
~oOo~

Before the door had fully opened, Gilan’s mind had already raced through a hundred different scenarios, judging the distance between himself and the door, calculating the arc of a knife throw, considering the speed with which he could get to his sword across the room.

He had been prepared for any number of enemies - a desperate fugitive, a club-wielding bandit, even a purple-cloaked, crossbow-brandishing Genovesan assassin.

He hadn’t been prepared for a cat. 

However, Gilan prided himself on his ability to adapt swiftly to any situation.

“Here, kitty! Here, kitty kitty!”

If this had been meant to elicit interest from the tortoiseshell cat, it failed. She merely stared at Gilan for a moment before leaping up onto the bookcase, walking along it for a while, jumping to the window, exiting through it, and landing on the front porch. She seemed content to stay there in the afternoon sun for the time being.

Despite his disappointment, Gilan’s interest was piqued. He had always wanted to have a cat or dog for company, but Halt had never let him bring strays into the cabin they shared. Now that he had his own cabin, Gilan thought, it was only up to the cat.

He figured offering it a drink of water would be a good place to start. Glancing out to the porch to make sure the cat was still there, he opened the bowls cupboard and was bewildered to find a sack of coffee beans.

It had already been such a strange day - getting hit with a broom, having a chair fall out from under him for no good reason, and having his home invaded by a cat - that Gilan briefly wondered if he was losing his mind. _There have_ always _been bowls in this cupboard..._

A moment later he remembered that this was Crowley’s - his - cabin, not Halt’s, despite the identical layout. _All right, so_ Crowley’s _the one who’s lost his mind - who keeps coffee in the bowl cupboard? Wait a minute, what’s in the coffee cupboard?_

It took Gilan several tries to find where the bowls were kept, and he counted himself lucky that the cat hadn’t left. He filled the bowl with water and slowly stepped out on the porch, doing his best not to spook the cat as he set the bowl down and backed up into the cabin a few steps.

“That’s for you,” he said after a moment.

The cat gazed at the water bowl for several seconds. Finally, she stepped forward and began drinking from it.

 _Fantastic,_ Gilan thought. Immediately his mind raced ahead as to what else he could offer to make the cabin a worthwhile place for the cat. Water was one thing, but food would be even better. _What do cats eat?_ he wondered.

His eyes landed on the small pile of groceries he’d brought from the village - namely, the paper-wrapped bundle of eggs. Hadn’t he heard somewhere that cats liked scrambled eggs?  
  


~oOo~

“This is for you,” Gilan remarked as he set down a plate. “If you’re hungry.” He retreated back inside the cabin to sit in front of the fire, where he could still watch what the cat would do.

The cat finished lapping the water and sat quietly for a few moments, twitching her tail. Finally, she wandered over to the eggs and sniffed at the plate curiously.

“Go on,” said Gilan. “I made them for you. Can’t waste good food.”

The cat shot him a disdainful look. Then it turned around and walked away, back towards the village. 

“No, come back!” called Gilan. But the cat was already gone. Gilan glanced down at the plate of eggs, feeling foolish.

_Huh - even the cat thinks I’m not good enough._

That pile of Battleschool reports still needed his attention. Sighing, he picked up the plate and wandered back into the kitchen, wondering where Crowley kept the forks.

~oOo~

It didn’t take long for Gilan to power through the fifty Battleschool reports - Halt had often involved him in putting together the yearly report for Redmont’s Battleschool. Only a handful contained notes on Battleschools that were in need of improvement or correction - by and large, the Kingdom’s Battlemasters were good at what they did. And only two - and those from the newest Rangers appointed - did Gilan set aside to be sent back for further clarification on certain points. The Kingdom’s Rangers were good at what they did, too.

And, thought Gilan, tucking the folder of reviewed reports into Blaze’s saddlebag and mounting up, he wasn’t doing half bad himself. Gilan imagined the look on Crowley’s face when he returned the reports within three hours of being assigned them.

As he rode towards the village, the smile slowly faded from Gilan’s face. Though he couldn’t put his finger on what it was, he could tell that something was wrong. 

His intuition was confirmed as Blaze rumbled a warning. By force of habit, he scanned the trees around him for bandits or wild animals - but it wasn’t a predator that had put Blaze on guard. And the danger wasn’t to Gilan.

The wind, blowing from the direction of the village, brought the acrid smell of smoke to Gilan’s nostrils, just as Blaze broke free of the treeline, granting him a full view of the black column drifting into the evening sky.

~oOo~  
  


Gilan pulled Blaze to a stop in front of the burning building, which he realized with a sinking heart was the smithy. He had been here just a few days ago. The flames had begun to die down, but already they had rendered the smouldering building almost unrecognizable.

Several lines of grim townspeople stood resolutely at their work, passing buckets from hand to hand and working to douse the remainder of the flames. As Gilan slid off his horse, one of the lines succeeded in drowning the last tongues of fire in their corner of the building and broke up, some volunteers joining other lines, some stepping forward cautiously to stamp out the last few embers, and one of them - who Gilan recognized with a start as a slightly singed Crowley - walking towards him.

“Crowley,” said Gilan, stepping forward to meet the Commandant. “What happened? Was it a spark from the forge, or...?”

Crowley put an arm around Gilan’s shoulders, his voice low and conscious of the townspeople around them. “That’s the theory going around,” he murmured. “But it’s not what really happened.”

Gilan’s mind leaped to what Ida had said that morning - which already seemed like days ago. “Arson?” he whispered.

Crowley nodded. “I spotted traces of lamp oil - and then there’s the burn pattern. It was concentrated near the forge - meant to look like an accident, I suppose - but other portions of the building went up at around the same time. And there were crates stacked in front of the doors, meant to keep Ernald and his wife inside. It’s lucky that a couple of crates are no match for a blacksmith when he wants to get through. Particularly if it’s Ernald.”

Gilan’s eyes widened. “So it’s not just arson, then,” he said. “It’s attempted murder.”

Crowley nodded grimly. He looked as if he would have said more, but just then, Ernald’s voice broke in.

“Well, looks like the fire’s mostly out,” he said. “Thanks again for helping with Jak, Ranger.”

Gilan raised an eyebrow - he hadn’t heard this bit of the story. Crowley shrugged good-naturedly. “Can’t let a good dog get left behind.”

Ernald nodded, but already he seemed distant from the conversation. Blearily, he dragged his hands down his face. “When is it supposed to set in, exactly?” he asked. “I just - I don’t know.”

“Don’t worry, Ernald.” Crowley’s voice was reassuring. “No one was hurt, and the fire was put out quickly. With any luck, we can get the damage repaired within a few weeks.”

“I just don’t understand how it happened in the first place!” said Ernald. "They think I got careless with the forge - I didn’t! I wasn’t born yesterday - I know how to work my forge without setting my bloody home on fire! It was those arsonists - the same ones who lit up the herbalist’s shop. Has to be!”

“Well, we shouldn’t draw any hasty conclusions,” said Crowley, “but we also can’t dismiss the possibility out of hand. And if it was the same people, anything you know might help us catch them.”

Ernald looked up. “What do you mean?”

“I know the idea is a little alarming, but do you have any enemies?” Crowley asked. “Anyone with a grudge strong enough to do something like this?”

“Well, that’s the thing. I’d have liked to think all my enemies were locked up tight in the King’s dungeons. I can’t imagine who could have done this.” The blacksmith looked back at his damaged home, watching the column of smoke continue to dissipate in the evening air. But part of his answer seemed strange to Gilan.

“What do you mean by that - all your enemies?” he cut in.

“Oh,” Ernald hesitated. “Well, that is, enemies of everyone in the kingdom. Murderers and bandits and the like,” he said, growing more confident with every word.

His answer didn’t make much sense to Gilan, but then, Ernald’s habit of rambling on odd tangents once he got an idea into his head was nothing new. After all, the man was still convinced that Gilan was Crowley’s apprentice. Gilan thought it best to change the subject.

“Who have your customers been today?”

“No one’s been in. I’ve been working on a longsword for Sir Mortimer up at the castle, and since yesterday I’ve been getting some horseshoes ready for the cabinetmaker’s husband.” Ernald looked back towards the door to the forge. “I wonder how much work I’ve lost...”

Crowley was quick to realize that it wasn’t the time for a full investigation. “Is there anything you need, Ernald?” he said. “If you and Twila need a place to stay, my suite up at the castle is yours until your house is repaired.”

Ernald turned back to them. “Thank you, Ranger, it’s kind of you. I’m - I think we’ll be all right. I reckon we’ll stay with my sister, at any rate until we can get some of the damage patched up. Like you said earlier - shouldn’t be too long. And it looks like mostly the wood and thatch that burned, right? With any luck I won’t have lost much.”

“That’s true,” said Crowley. “Well, when you’re ready, I’d appreciate it if you’d make some time to come and see me so we could talk this over more thoroughly.”

“Certainly,” said Ernald. He took a deep breath. “Well, thanks again for your help, Ranger. I’d better go see where Twila and Jak have got to.”

~oOo~

After their work was done at the smithy, Crowley had ridden with Gilan back to the cabin. “We have a lot to talk about,” the Commandant had said. “Besides - the coffee never seems to taste the same when I make it up at the castle.”

Gilan was fairly certain he knew what the conversation would be about, but Crowley didn’t broach the topic until the two of them were sitting at the kitchen table, sipping from their steaming mugs.

“This is the second incident of arson this month - and by the same people,” the Commandant said grimly. “The methods were too similar to be coincidence. These arsonists are dangerous, and I don’t think they plan to stop here.”

“It almost seems like...” Gilan paused to collect the thoughts that had been swirling in his mind since they had left the smithy. “Well, I’m willing to bet there’s more to it than just wanting to cause fear and panic. I wasn’t here when that stable burned down, but for the smithy, it seemed targeted. I mean, they tried to make it look like an accident, which they wouldn’t do if they just wanted to scare the public. And they barred the door to try and keep the blacksmith inside.”

“It’s a worrying possibility,” said Crowley. He sighed and rubbed at his temples. “This really couldn’t have come at a worse time. There’s a band of mail thieves in the west that keep hopping from fief to fief, which could lead to disaster all on its own. I’m already at my limits trying to coordinate the efforts of the different Rangers whose fiefs have been targeted. Which brings me to my next point.” Crowley set down his cup and looked the younger Ranger in the eyes. 

“Gilan, I’d like for you to try and tackle this arson case.”

Gilan had suspected something like this might be coming, but he couldn’t keep from being a little startled nonetheless. “By myself?”

“Not entirely. I’ll still be here if you need me,” said Crowley. “I knew things like this would keep cropping up - running the Corps is a full-time job on its own, and Araluen Fief is one of the biggest and busiest in the whole country. That’s why I decided that this fief needed a secondary Ranger, and I believe you’re more than ready. And, again, I’ll be here if this proves to be a two-Ranger problem.”

“I hope it won’t get to that,” said Gilan. “I mean, one riot, one Ranger, after all. Besides, if I had my own fief, I’d have to see to problems myself all the time, right?”

“Don’t be so quick to make that assumption,” said Crowley. “Make no mistake - this is a dangerous assignment, and Araluen Fief is hardly first-year Ranger material. I may be swamped, but I certainly don’t expect you to take care of the capital fief of the country without help. So, if you need backup, don’t hesitate to call me in. I’ll be there - just like I’m there for the people of my fief.”

Gilan paused to absorb this, nodding several times. After a moment, another thought that had been plaguing him resurfaced. “That reminds me. You offered Ernald and his wife your suite at the castle.”

“And I’d have given it to them,” said Crowley, draining the last drops from his mug.

“I know. But it had me wondering - where were you planning to sleep?”

Crowley inclined his head towards the living room. “On your couch.”

Gilan nodded slowly. "So... you weren't even going to ask me first? Just show up on my couch?" 

Crowley squinted at Gilan. "You know, I _gave_ you that couch."

“I know. I know,” said Gilan. He tipped his empty coffee cup on its side, rolling it back and forth on the table in front of him before meeting Crowley’s gaze again. "I’m just saying... maybe you shouldn't have given it to me if you were still planning on using it. That couch is mine now."

Crowley pursed his lips. "Of course. You’re right. It _is_ yours.” He paused, pulling something out of his pocket. “Like this fletching jig used to be."

“Hey!” said Gilan, reaching for the small device. “That’s- I-”

Crowley leaned back in his chair, easily keeping himself and his prize out of Gilan’s reach. "You left it in my office earlier today. I assumed it was a gift."

“Crowley,” said Gilan, trying in vain to regain control of the conversation. "I need that jig."

“Now, see,” said Crowley, gesturing at Gilan with the fletching jig, "you shouldn't have given it to me if you were still planning on using it. This here? This is mine now."

  
~oOo~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @elizathehumancarrot, @littlekaracan, and @VallirenWrites for betaing this chapter!


End file.
